


Do You Hear Me (I'm Talking to You)

by orphan_account



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the most part, it seems that people don't realise the true value of what they have before it's gone. And that's sad.<br/>Fortunately, it wasn't like that for Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Hear Me (I'm Talking to You)

**Author's Note:**

> Just your general "wait what happened I need to get my feelings out about that scene ughhhhhh my emotions" kind of drabble.

For the most part, it seems that people don't realise the true value of what they have before it's gone. And that's sad.

Fortunately, it wasn't like that for Mickey. He might not have realised it all at first, but to be honest with himself, he thinks he caught on quite quickly. He treasured Ian as much as he was able to for as long as possible. Met up with him, talked to him, let Ian fuck him. They even kissed a couple of times, like one of those heat of the moment type of things.

Mickey had been good to Ian, in the sense that Ian had been appreciated. It wasn't anybody's fault if he hadn't _felt_ like it - you can't have it all.

Mickey kills the cig when he stomps on it, turns his foot a bit. Looks around himself, around the empty street, empty houses, empty fucking atmosphere. And he lights another cig.

It was Ian who had been at fault. Who had ran away - he always said something about that. That Mickey had "ran away" or something. Now, Ian was the one doing the running, the stupid hypocrite.

The cig doesn't taste anything, doesn't rasp a little at his lungs as it should. Not this one, and not the uncountable amount he's smoked before this and after _that_ one. That one - that last cig that tasted and rasped.

If he gets really low - so low he can't even pretend that he's not - he thinks about it. How the words were on his tongue, on his lips even - hell, they even came out. At least one word. It was probably the best word that could've come out on its own, because he'd missed it and simply said "go", then that would've made for a truly shitty goodbye. Hah.

No, but he'd said "don't", and then got it shoved in his face exactly how it feels to get words stuck in your throat. And how time can feel much slower, but it's not - not really - so you just stand there and you can't do anything. Because the words are stuck in your throat, and you're the one that's slow, not time.

At that one, long moment, he saw every emotion swirl around in Ian's face. He saw them all. Then he'd left.

Mickey was so lucky. So goddamn lucky. He'd realised Ian's true value before it was too late.

It could've been worse. He could've not done anything about it.

He could've shut up.

He could've said "don't", when he'd meant to explain why, said that Ian had been right all along, finally hug him, kiss him like for real and not like some half-romanticised foreplay.

No. It could've been worse.

Mickey was so lucky.


End file.
